


Things That Fall

by mayvins



Series: Things That Fall [1]
Category: Tales of Destiny
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hints of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 10:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15861561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayvins/pseuds/mayvins
Summary: A collection of Chal & Young Master ficlets, inspired by this work: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/304951/things-that-fall/.





	Things That Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent fic as I fiercely love these two. It includes not-so subtle allusions to game events and tacit nods towards side materials sprinkled throughout ( _read_ : reconciling the different canon proved to be a tad difficult in some areas, hence this frankensteined rendition). I had fun.
> 
> The title also alludes to Chal “falling” in more ways than one—he falls prey to self-destructive thought patterns, falls into a situation where he is stuck with a child for a master, and eventually falls from grace by willingly forsaking his duty as a Swordian. Most importantly, what began as comforting an emotionally despondent toddler in a frantic attempt to forget his own emotional pain and trauma of being just a “weapon” turns into genuine, tender relationship, _i.e._ , he unabashedly falls for Emilio.

**petals**  


It is their first spring together and the cherry blossoms flutter down like intermittent raindrops. A stray petal caught in a puff of wind finds its way into the open window and lands on baby Emilio’s cheek. He wrinkles his nose and kicks his feet in startled protest. If Chaltier had hands, he would have reached over to pluck it off; but alas, one of the maids comes in and does it instead. 

The next time it happens, Emilio grabs it and his little eyes light up in fascination. By the end of spring, he has a small collection hidden beneath his pillow. He manages to keep it secret until midsummer when he finally retrieves them, but the dry petals crumble in his hands and cover him with their soft-hued dust.

Pink, Chaltier decides, looks good on him.

  


**teardrops**  


He tries to muffle his sobs in his pillow, but Chaltier knows that his young master is crying. Loneliness spills out of him with each falling tear. At times like these, words provide little comfort, but a mere “weapon” has not much to give. Still, the impotent pain of empathy manifests in his core crystal and, if Harold had not been so adamant about their nature, might have been mistaken for a dull ache. 

So Chaltier begins to hum—softly at first, a familiar lullaby. Emilio's trembling shoulders soon still, replaced by only an occasional sniffle, as the melody fills his head and wraps him in a mother’s forgotten embrace.

  


**snowflakes**  


Seinegald sees an unusually white winter. All bundled up, Emilio sneaks out to play in the snow swathed garden. Chaltier teaches him how to build a snowman. 

“I wish you could make one with me, Chal.” It stings more than Chaltier cares to admit. Truthfully, he dislikes snow—it reminds him of war and an era of strife. Then again, not many things do not. But Emilio’s heartfelt disappointment reflects off his core crystal and he finds himself caught up in it. 

Suddenly a snowflake lands atop Emilio’s rosy nose. He sneezes.

“ _Best we go back inside now, Young Master. Perhaps drink something warm_.” Emilio protests, but Chaltier soon convinces him otherwise. Tea is best served with dessert after all. 

  


**rain**  


Even on the opposite side of the manor, Hugo’s presence is stifling. Emilio may not fully realize it himself, but Chaltier notices that he spends more time in the garden whenever his father is home. Only today, the sky has other plans. 

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops echoes off the stone pathway outside. Chaltier suggests closing the window, but Emilio insists on leaving it open while he practices the violin. He seems more churlish than usual. 

“ _Why don’t we go out and play in all the puddles when the rain stops, Young Master. Remember how all the water pools in the back garden? We should go make a big splash!_ ” He was not much for getting wet for fear of his blade rusting, but the cotton and cloth wrapped around him would provide adequate protection for puddle jumping at least. Besides, no matter how he must carry himself, Emilio is still a child, and one in desperate need of a distraction at that.

“Stop being foolish, Chal. I must study my academics.” 

The harsh response takes Chaltier by surprise. He stays silent the rest of the evening and the rain continues well into the night.

  


**stars**  


They lay on the grass gazing at the night sky above them. Chaltier wishes he could offer his expertise, but studying the stars proved difficult when they were obscured by a giant aeropolis.

“One of the maids told me that falling stars grant wishes,” Emilio explains pragmatically. “I don’t believe that. They’re not even stars.” He pauses, then much more dismissively: “It’s not as if my wish would come true anyway.” 

Chaltier has an inkling of what that wish would be and opts to stay silent. Emilio then pushes himself off the ground and curls his fingers around his hilt. Seems he has had enough of the view for tonight.

“Besides, I like you well enough as a sword, Chal.”

Instead of being gripped by the usual wave of unpleasantness at the reminder, Chaltier is filled with a feeling he cannot quite place. “ _As long as I’m by your side, Young Master._ ” 

The world may be sleeping, but to Chaltier, the world is his master.

  


**tides**  


He is excited, Chaltier can tell, though he hides it behind a cool expression that becomes more unyielding with each passing year. It is Emilio’s first time leaving Seinegald on a ship. Chaltier’s excited, too. 

“ _Young Master_ ,” his voice pitches in enthusiasm, “ _tell me how it feels_!”

“It’s just a sea breeze, Chal. No big deal.” 

“ _… I don’t remember_ ,” Chaltier confesses, subdued by wistful whims, “ _what it feels like, the water or the wind._ ” Even though he never once had a human body, the memories of his original master’s should still be as fresh as yesterday. At the risk of sounding too gloomy, he hastily adds: “ _They say the sea soothes your soul_.”

“… I suppose.” Emilio muses in return, looking out onto the expanse of water stretched out before them. Chaltier hums in approval. 

The tide soon begins to wane, not unlike Emilio’s eagerness as it fades into discomfort with each pitch and roll of the vessel. In an unseemly gesture, he covers his mouth with the back of his hand and gags. Chaltier detects something is wrong instantly. 

“ _Do you feel ill, Young Master?_ ” Emilio does not respond. Concerned, Chaltier offers a remedy for seasickness he heard once: “ _Focus on the horizon, young master. You can steady yourself!_ "

The shifting tides continue to fall and the vessel dips once more. Emilio leans his head over the side of the ship.

“ _Young Master, the horizon…!_ ”

  


**eyelids**  


It is late, and the soft bedding beneath them will surely coax his young master into slumber soon. Although Chaltier cannot feel, he knows by the swell and lull of the fire that the room is comfortably warm.

“Say, Chal?” Even though they are sharing the same pillow, his young master’s back is turned. If not for their neural link, his voice would have been barely audible. ““I’ve decided that once I become recognized for my swordsmanship, I’ll change my name.”

“ _Why is that, Young Master?_ ” Chaltier can sense his body stiffen at the question. “ _Well, it’s fine either way_.” With that, the tension fades and his breathing evens. “ _No matter what you’re called, you’re still you. Also—_ " A pause. “ _…Young Master?_ ”

The reply is a soft snore.

  


**time**  


"What if we... what if we never met?"

The sudden question takes Chaltier by surprise, but not as much as his own response—“ _Don’t say such things, Young Master!_ ”

Silence falls. If not for the crackling of the fire, it would have been deafening. Just how many lifetimes have passed since the war? Or how many years have gone by since his slumber was interrupted? The passage of time is difficult for a Swordian to grasp. 

“ _What matters is that you are my master now. I look forward to the day you wield me to my full potential._ ” He seems content enough with the answer, but Chaltier presses on.

“ _As long as I am by your side, you won’t be lonely,_ ” he adds, albeit perhaps more for his own sake than his young master’s.

  


**shadows**  


For the first time, Chaltier feels guilty that he is not the instrument of death. 

Instead, the red wine mockingly mimics the color of blood—blood that will mar his young master’s hands once the poison within takes hold of Finley Doug, leader of Seinegald Army’s seven generals, Leon's swordsmanship instructor, and… the closest to a father figure he has. Chaltier pleads for him to reconsider, but they both know what will happen if he does not follow Hugo’s orders. As always, Chaltier is powerless in protecting him. Now he is also robbed of sharing the burden by dirtying his blade. 

As Finley’s body falls lifelessly to the floor, his young master flees like a shadow into the night, fighting tears that Chaltier wishes he would allow himself to shed. 

  


**leaves**  


Autumn arrives once again, though its rich and vibrant colors seem muted this year. When his young master returns to his room, Chaltier notices the flower vase near the window in dire need of a new arrangement. Marian offers her humblest apologies and promises to prepare a fresh one post-haste. As she hurries out to the garden, a decaying leaf clinging fast to one of the flower’s stems drifts to the ground, its reward for keeping the rest of the flower alive: abandonment. 

Emilio—rather, _Leon_ , reaches down to pick it up, and Chaltier notices his face darken for an instant. The leaf disintegrates between his fingers leaving behind a dusty residue. Although Leon wipes his hands on a handtowel offered by another of the maids, he can still sense remnants of it on his hands when he grasps his hilt. 

Chaltier says nothing. 

  


**the sun**  


Dusk nears. Judging by his expression, his young master has made his decision. He presses forward with direction and urgency, though Chaltier can tell his hands are shaking. His pleas fall on deaf ears. Dagger at the ready, his young master continues towards the seal. But no matter who or what opposes him, not once does he pull Chaltier from his sheath. 

He no longer wishes to hear his voice. After all, he is… just a sword. But more than that, his young master is stuck in an unending nightmare. 

“This is Leon. I’ve located the God’s Eye.”

The evening pulls the last of sun down and night blooms. 

  


**and I,**  


Days have passed. Chaltier remains in the dark storeroom, alone. His young master has suffered grievous wounds by Hugo—no, _Miktran_ ’s hand, he would not wake, and—

The memory etched onto his core crystal plays repeatedly, vivid and distressing. If anything has happened to his young master…!

“ _I’ll—_ ” Reality sets in. “ _…I’ll_ nothing _…_ ”

Nor can Chaltier cry.

  


**for you**  


“ _I will follow you, no matter what. You will always be my master._ ” 

The mine collapses, flooding. Chaltier can feel his young master’s grip loosen from his hilt as he asphyxiates. Soon the currents will wash him away while he is left to sink. 

He does not regret his decision. More than anyone, he knows the truth of his young master, toyed with by fate, who would not spare himself even tarnishing his name for the sake of the person he loved enough to make his heart bleed. 

The irony of his own path is all but lost on him as Chaltier falls, once again, into sleep’s embrace.


End file.
